


Hot Shot

by Valaks



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alex Gets Training, Alex Rider Teen Spy Requires Different Skills Than Alex Rider MI6 Agent, Alex Rider is not a BAMF, Alex is not special, Gen, He is but the Trainer isn’t going to show it, Realistic Shooting, Sort of Based Off of Unfortunate Son, The Most Valuable Thing Alex Can Learn is Following Orders, The Trainer is Not Amused, Well - Freeform, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaks/pseuds/Valaks
Summary: Teaching the greens at the MI6 training facilities was a challenge just from the sheer breadth of backgrounds alone. He had to handle training schedules for everyone from military sharpshooters to kids who had barely seen a gun on TV. He had pegged Rider for the latter. He wasn’t. But that didn’t mean Sherman didn’t have something to teach him.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 113





	Hot Shot

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unfortunate Son](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24566014) by [galimau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galimau/pseuds/galimau). 



Teaching the greens was never one of Sherman’s favorite things to do. It was a necessary evil of being the shooting instructor. Most of their recruits came from a law enforcement or military background, some were rich and grew up hunting but still there were a few that had never held a gun before. 

One look around the class and he could almost pick out who he would need to pull aside - the short blonde kid with still too long arms was one. He had heard rumors of Rider, one of the newest sign ons, being in the group. He was young, too young. In his opinion the kid needed to get some life experience under his belt before he dipped his toe in the espionage world. 

Most of it was boring stuff but maybe Crawley thought having someone young could help him pass for someone even younger. It wasn’t the oddest hire. There had been plenty of young ones to come before. At first, Sherman had kept an ear down to follow their careers. They hadn’t gone well. 

It was hard to blend in when you didn’t understand the particulars of how to function in an adult world especially in drug rings and other places that agents stuck their nose in. Those that did usually flipped sides - better money, less oversight. Young people liked that. They hadn’t grown to appreciate the comfort of stability. But then that was why they were agents and not in some other desk job to grind away their lives. They all thought that they would be given a hotshot James Bond role. Most would be riding desks until they left or were as grey as the walls at Vauxhall. MI6  _ sounded _ flashy but for 95% it was just like any other gig. 

The interest the higher ups had in this class, and particularly Rider, told him that things might not be the same for them or at least him. That was all gossip, though. Fitzgibbons enjoyed passing it along. He oversaw all of the training curriculum and, in exchange for buying a pint or two on a Wednesday night, he gave up information about where old trainees ended up and what the latest thing the rumor mill had cooked up about the recruits was. 

It was an even trade. 

The current hot topic of the mill was that Jones had her eye on the kid for....something. No one was quite sure what exactly, probably his age but they’d had young agents before that  _ hadn't _ caught the attention of the Head. Fitzgibbons said he was a legacy - his uncle had been in but that was a distant relation and Ian Rider hadn’t exactly been a warm and friendly man that he recalled. Last he had been seen was years ago. Mission gone wrong but things like that were rarely confirmed. People vanished and you just didn’t ask questions unless you wanted a gag order and a glass ceiling put over you. It certainly wasn’t the first time nepotism had seeped into the hallowed halls of MI6 they were just as corrupt as everywhere else in government. 

Fitzgibbons had given a glowing report of the kid - smart, creative, almost too knowledgeable but all of that was brushed aside once he found out that the kid was fresh off an internship with ‘6 as part of his college. Apparently the plan was a few years in the field and then Uni (if he survived) and specialized training as soon as he was given the green light. Sherman was the thing standing between Rider and that. He wouldn’t fail him purposefully but he wasn’t going to let anyone but  _ especially _ some kid through without a thorough vetting. There would be no familial bumps, no scraping by. Rider would have to be consistent and proficient before Sherman let him slide into extra training that even spec ops had to wait at least a year in the field for. Rider wouldn’t have it easy with him, given his posh look he might expect it. It would be a rude awakening, but cutting down on bravado in a room full of people who were the best and brightest the country had to offer was his job, then, wasn’t it? 

“From your files most of you have handled these in an official capacity but let’s see a raised hand from those who haven’t.” Four. One less than he was expecting. He glared up at Rider. “Official capacity, kid. You and the other civilians will be with me. The rest of you head over to the range. Holland’ll be walking you through the formal assessment.” 

Rider didn’t make any move, just stood casually like he hadn’t been called out by name. His classmates appeared to give him a wide enough berth, though, so it had stuck to everyone but the intended target but that was just being a kid and he wasn't out of line enough to address it. 

“You won’t be issued a handgun. You’re not soldiers. Most of you will be riding a desk but should you find yourselves in the field you still might need one and come across it.” It was the same spiel he gave every time. Holland was doing the same but modified for people who knew what the hell they were doing. 

“It’s in our best interest that you know the barrel from the trigger. Should you be given a mission that will require further knowledge, it’ll be provided. It rarely happens and especially not to civilians so don’t get excited.” They had reached the table where he had set out 6 Glock 17s and 5 magazines. “For today, we’re gonna keep this simple - parts, loading, unloading, and basic safety,” None of them looked particularly enthused at the prospect. Tough. “Then, once I’m sure you won’t kill everyone in here by accident, we’ll head to the range.” most brightened slightly at the mention of getting to  _ do _ something which was fair. They had either been kept in classrooms or going through physical exercises for the better part of 4 weeks now. Shooting would be easy by comparison. He would whip them into actually being able to shoot competently by the time they left his tender care a few months from now. His eyes landed on Rider who was studying the pistol in front of him with an expression just this side of bored. Kid better get used to it.

A handgun wasn’t exactly rocket science so it was no surprise that most handled them with ease. He kept his lecture to a half an hour - safety and cleaning and everything else that they would immediately forget amongst the sheer amount of information that was being crammed into their heads right now. They would be tested, sure, but being an agent was all about knowing what information was useful. This was not or if it was then it was instinctual and could be guessed to a reasonable degree of certainty. Sherman could appreciate that. 

The quiz section went just as well as he expected it to - they were all bright and could retain information from 5 minutes ago. Bravo. It was mainly an excuse for Holland to pull the more experienced shooters to the side and give his lot room to work without the fear of judgment. The problem with them all being Uni kids was that the pride hadn’t been kicked out of them yet. Now, with a real weapon in their hand for the first time, was not the time to start. 

“We’re going to work on stance first. This is the isosceles stance.” He demonstrated without his gun “feet, shoulder length apart, toes pointed to the target, knees slightly bent so you don’t pass out and I have to scrape you off the floor. You’ll be leaning slightly forward, that’s normal, helps with recoil. Note the hands are held straight out in front, gun in the middle of the chest. Your firing arm, the one you pull the trigger with, will be extended. The other will be bent slightly. Questions on it?” 

“No, sir!” Not shocking, hard to ask questions about how to  _ stand _ but he had to put it out there in case someone wanted to play smart. 

“Alright, grab your gun and a stall. Try and imitate to the best you can. Safety  _ on. _ Fire a shot and you’re out of here.” They broke off and he turned to Holland who had come back to join him. “You handle the three on the left I’ll take the last two.” Holland gave him a dry look, they knew each other and the scuttle hurt well enough to know just what he was doing. Tough. Seniority rule and all that. He strode over to Corter first to begin his favorite pastime of kicking ankles and bending arms and shifting grips over and over again until they got perfection. 

Corter didn’t take too much correction, angle the left arm up a few centimeters, shift the stance just a little wider given his height and then it was off to Rider. It wasn’t textbook. His arm was a little low, and he could widen his stance just a hair too. On anyone else especially on the first day, he would have let it slide. But now wasn’t really the time to get into bad habits, not if he was being marked for extra training. He stepped back and then ordered them to break their stances. 

30 times of that and they might finally be able to fire a shot. 

Both seemed to have pretty decent muscle memory. Corter had to be corrected a few times. Rider held steady. Fitzgibbons may have been right about him or he could just be one of those people that *got* this sort of thing. It wasn’t always a useful skill but there were very few skills in this line of work that  _ didn’t _ come in handy in the field. 

He took a step out of Rider’s stall for the last time to nod at Holland who was waiting for his cue. 

They shared a nod “Muffs and glasses on, I’m sure you can figure out how to put on those on your own.” There was the clatter of plastic against wood,. “Light at the end will flash green to start firing, red to stop. Fire after red and you’ll never see my range again!” It was said at a yell just in case some of the recruits had put their muffs on before he finished. Eagerness made you act stupid, and stupid couldn’t be cured just worked around. 

They checked everyone’s stance a final time. 

Then he flipped the light to green and left it. In the future he’d switch back and forth red to green to test their reflexes but for now they were going for a basic proficiency baseline not speed or aim. He waited until the range was silent before he flipped back to red and hit the button to call the targets in. 

Corter hadn’t put his safety but otherwise every bullet had hit the paper which was more than he could really ask sometimes. He drifted over to Rider who was frowning at his target in dissatisfaction, it wasn’t perfect an almost clean line of bullets from the middle ring to the center. Nothing to write home about for someone ha who had experience. But good. 

Check the reloading. Confirm the stance. Signal the range. He was used to the routine at this point. It was more interesting now when the recruits were still learning, if more dangerous because of that. Here in a few weeks he would just be making minor tweaks. By then Rider might have full bullseyes consistently - his second and third rounds were trending closer and then almost completely in the bullseye. It was too fast for a first timer. Rider apparently hadn't been lying that he was familiar, if a little rusty. He didn’t comment on it, though just watching the kid getting more and more worked up at his silence.

He had just nodded over to Holland for their last round when he saw Rider’s stance shift out of the corner of his eye - one arm dropping, stance sliding into something that appeared far more natural, before he could stop him Holland had hit the signal. 

Great.  Now he was going to have to write a report about the kid spraining his wrist  _ and _ file the paperwork to kick him out. This is why they didn’t allow....he trailed off as he took in the target. 

Gone were the scatter shots instead replaced by clean hits - chest and head. The kid switched hands and after a shot that went just a hair too far to the right -  _ not his dominant arm but still proficient _ , he mentally catalogued - he corrected course immediately. The light turned red, Rider put the safety on and took off his muffs, turning to face him, determination in every line of his face. 

“You’re not here to show off.” 

“I can shoot.” It was a stiff reminder that Rider was obviously missing the  _ point _ of the exercise. 

He settled with arching an eyebrow “Never said you couldn’t. Not sure where we got you from for you to do  _ that _ ” he nodded to the target “But you still have to learn the  _ right _ way.” 

The kid looked taken aback. 

Good. 

“You’ll be cleaning the guns for the rest of the week for breaking orders. Might help you learn some humility before you get yourself killed in the field trying to get fancy.” 

He meant it, Rider was good but he’d get himself killed showing off. 

“Yes, sir.” His voice was neutral, face carefully schooled, eyes hard. Much better. More agent than kid with a chip on his shoulder. He could work with that.

“Finish early and we’ll see about knocking more of that rust off of y-”

“They done, Sherry?!” Fitzgibbons was, for once right on time, 

“Get em out of here.” He ordered and the man shot him a wink then began to marshal them to fall in and march out. 

Holland had begun checking the guns over and collecting them to clean “Don’t bother, Rider’ll be handling em.” 

“So he’s good then?” 

He mulled it over - for an 18 year old? Damn good. For a recruit with no military back ground? Impressive. For someone who knew instinctive shooting? Pretty good, if rusty. 

“Could stand to have his ego knocked down.” He groused

Holland arched an eyebrow, sly smile crossing his lips “High praise comin from you. Sure Fitzy’ll love to hear it.” 

“Yeah just don’t tell him he was right.” He groused as he headed to his office to start the report on Rider. He wouldn’t rec him now even if his shots were acceptable to move on. After a few weeks of class and punishment duty he would, but not right now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this line in the fic which had my heart:
> 
> If Ian had lived, there was an internship waiting with Alex’s name on it. All official and legal, if reeking of old-school nepotism. Summers at sixteen. A contract at eighteen he would have had no reason to turn down. Two years and then entry into a sensible university to finish the proper qualifications and then back into the field.


End file.
